


courtship of birds

by orbitalknight



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Mid-Canon, Spoilers, cheesy flirting, melia finally gets the banquet she deserves, the rarepair you didn't know you needed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-01 16:46:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15147518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orbitalknight/pseuds/orbitalknight
Summary: Alcamoth is left shaken by tragedy, in desperate need of a distraction and reassurance.Kallian proposes the previously canceled banquet and finds himself surprised by a different kind of proposition.





	1. blessings and curses

There are storms that demand to be remembered. 

They howl in with a force that cannot be predicted, shake the sky and teach the indisputable definition of what it means to rend the heavens. Assigning a personality to every anomaly of the weather was a futile task, but this storm was especially uncaring, unrelenting as it poured upon the Eryth Sea and all the towers of Alcamoth. This included the tower of Investigation in which resided Yumea, First Consort. There was precious little substance in such a title, given that it implied a connection to a living Emperor. But no such connection existed, however recently severed it was. Not that Yumea had any reason to know such a thing. The storm had no reason to know, either, but nonetheless sparked the sky with lightning as the bearer of such news made his way to where his mother listened to the same thunder that followed his ascent.

Prince Kallian spoke few words to the guards outside of Yumea’s room. He’d encountered her maid on the way up, accepted her hushed condolences. This was an encounter he’d been dreading, evident in his hesitation to open the door. Finally, he pressed a hand to the sensor panel, allowing for the biometric scan that would give him access to the chamber. The door slid open with sound little louder than the rainfall. Another touch to the panel brought more light, revealing the figure of Yumea, huddled in a corner of the room. The conditions were not up to the standards of the rest of the palace, obviously, but all the necessities for a comfortable enough prison sentence were available. Still, solitary confinement had not aged the First Consort well. She had stirred at the sound, dust stirring with her. Perhaps it had been too long that the Tower had been out of use. 

“Mother?” Kallian spoke, attempting to keep down whatever emotion had manifested at the sight of Yumea. The door slid closed behind him.

She turned all the way around now, squinting at the light. Her silvery hair hung raggedly about her face, falling out of place where it had once been so styled to perfection. There was nothing imperial about the jagged tips of her fingernails or the clothing she had seemingly torn in some fit of anger. It took much effort for Kallian not to recoil from her as she stood, reeling with the disconnect of the composed figure that he had last spoken to.

When her eyes had adjusted, recognition finally dawned across her face. “It is truly you, my son?”

“Yes, mother. I have come only to--” But he was given no time to explain his purpose, Yumea had stood fully and was coming toward him, bringing attention to the disarray of her wings, speckled with what had fallen from the ceiling and feathers hanging at unnatural angles. It had been a long time since Kallian had felt any sort of familial affection for the woman, but that did not diminish how pitiful the sight was. Yumea grabbed Kallian’s face with both hands, and he stumbled backward at the sudden, unwanted touch, as if her fingers carried some poison in them. 

“I have asked for you many times,” She rasped, looking far worse up close, “Where is your father? Surely he is not so taken with those savages that he would refuse to speak to me entirely.”

A sense of cold duty and a long-held fear were all that kept Kallian from escaping then and there. “He will not be visiting, mother. The Emperor is dead.”

Yumea blinked, and then released Kallian from her grasp. She took a step back. A thousand questions flashed across her features, and she at last settled on the simplest. “How?”

Kallian’s gaze shifted to the floor. It was not as though he’d been given much time to consider the notion, himself. “I do not have a comprehensive report as of now. But he was struck down by a Mechon. It was the end he foresaw, and could not have been avoided.”

“How unfortunate,” Yumea said, her expression nowhere close to distraught, “that he could not meet the end intended for him”

Kallian knew to what she was referring, recognized the words of what had been nightmares to him. He’d known that the same voice had caressed his mother into sleep, had fed her hatred, and even now told her that she had no reason to grieve the death of her husband. There was no point in responding to something she so desperately wanted him to. It was relieving, somehow, to know he had more pressing matters to worry over. 

Kallian gave Yumea one last look. “I have said all that is necessary. Farewell, mother.” He bowed, slightly, out of habit more than respect. 

Yumea had served long enough in the palace to know what such a dismissal looked like, as she had delivered many of them herself. “Do you envy his death?” she asked, rather than returning the goodbye. 

Kallian was halfway out already, standing in the open door. He turned, though not fully, to address the question. “Father died protecting Melia, and the whole of the future with her. If my end is half as noble, I shall have no reason for such envy.”

The door slid shut, and the rain remained irreverent to all conversations, should they be with family or about family.  
It was a storm to be remembered, after all.

***

Even once the clouds had cleared out, the atmosphere of Alcamoth remained gloomy. Sorean Antiqua’s rule may have been relatively short, but he was beloved long before his ascension. The royal guard had been especially devastated by the Emperor’s last order, and the High Entia way was not to openly grieve. Sorrows were expressed in half sentences, in headwings without their usual luster, fragments of the announcement overheard near the fountains. Remorse hung about the city like a ghost, the opposite of what the departed Emperor would have desired for all that he had left behind.

Before he had spoken to Yumea, Kallian and Melia had spent most of the evening formulating their joint address to the citizens of Alcamoth before delivering it, then afterward attending meetings with the heads of ministries and going through all the proper motions that they’d been taught and anticipated using, though not quite this soon. Melia’s delayed ascension was not an uncommon practice, but the work left for Kallian because it was somewhat daunting. He did not sleep after leaving his mother and the Tower, and with an ample amount of time to think he came to the conclusion that perhaps everyone was in desperate need of a distraction. Melia’s guests included, of course. 

The banquet that had been planned in honor of Melia being named successor to the throne was easy enough to pitch to the heads of ministries since all the preparations were still in place from before its cancellation. Talonyth, Alcamoth’s most renowned chef, had been heartbroken when the banquet was initially postponed. He was eager for a second chance at the event, and Kallian suspected that keeping his hands busy in the kitchen was a welcome distraction for the chef as well. There had been pushback at his proposal, especially from Lorithia. She was adamant at first that such a frivolous event would dull the need for the offensive retaliation she had proposed at an earlier meeting, but eventually relented on the grounds that having more time to research and prepare was never a bad thing.

Melia remained uncertain about if she should be excited or not, given that the speech she had written beforehand had to be completely changed. Kallian had assured her that whatever she came up with would be sure to please whoever had the joy of hearing it. The two of them worked out a plan so that Melia would not be stuck in her new imperial role the entire evening, given that she deserved a break from her mask as much as anyone else. So she would go without the physical piece of ceremony for the first half of the evening, then return with it on to deliver her speech and to accept her first dance as successor. The two weren’t certain about what to do about that dance in particular. It should have been Sorean’s honor to pass on his crown symbolically, as a father and as emperor. 

The ballroom of the Whitewing palace had not been used for a long while, so cleaning and preparation became a lengthy task. Luckily, the banquet was not scheduled until the early evening, so there was enough time for Kallian to be especially picky about the arrangements. The space had been cleared out before the banquet was first canceled, but everything else still needed to be brought in and finished. The guest tables were draped in white fabric with gold trim, meant to compliment the floral centerpieces of mystic dahlias, while the buffet tables were the lavender shade of stardrops. All had been arranged to leave room for both the dances that would take place as well as a raised platform for Melia’s speech. Once all was set and the hovering chandeliers had been dusted, the curtains on the wide windows of the ballroom were pulled back to reveal the sun just beginning to set on the city. 

A unit of the imperial guard arrived first, having been assigned to the banquet by the reasoning that Yumea’s imprisonment may not have been a strong enough deterrent for future assassination attempts. They wore dress armor, which was less practical but would still serve its purpose if the need arose. Next was the orchestra, who were so rarely employed for palace events that booking them last minute had been no issue whatsoever. They were settled and warming up by the time the first wave of guests arrived and castle staff began to make their way through with ornate silver trays of both sweet and savory appetizers. Fine music and the smells of equally food filled the hall when Melia finally entered, along with her rather large party of guests. She seemed to have instructed them to dress for the occasion, but given the nature of their travels it was nothing quite as opulent as the dress of the other guests.

Kallian had been busily engaged when the tables were still being set but drifted to the side as preparations finished. Now he rushed to meet the guests, to a degree relieved that he for once wasn’t speaking to them while one of his family members was in grave danger. He had intended to spend a little longer speaking with all of them, on the basis of an idea he’d been toying with throughout the day, but settled on a quick expression of gratitude for their attendance. This was supposed to be Melia’s celebration, especially the portion in which she could be most genuine. There was no need to inadvertently embarrass her in front of her friends, either, especially given that he did not know all of their names. 

Kallian retreated back to the perimeter, picking up a drink and an appetizer along the way. He quickly realized his mistake on this front, though, as being the only member of the royal family “present” meant that he could not pause for a minute in accepting both praise and condolences. Finally, there was a break in the wave of conversations, though by then his food had long gone cold. Still, it would have been a disservice to Talonyth to waste even a little dish, and he was eager to take advantage of the pause.

“This is certainly quite the royal party.”

Kallian nearly choked on his mouthful of Eryth Sea fish, turning quickly to see who had spoken. It was Dunban, leaning casually against the ballroom wall. Kallian had no idea how long the Homs swordsman had been there, but he was suddenly painfully aware that his appearance most likely reflected how little he had slept the past few days. “Yes,” he said, recovering, “by nature of the fact that the imperial family is present.”

Dunban smiled. “That, too. You put this together yourself, right?”

Kallian shook his head. “I cannot take such credit when all the preparation was already in place.”

“Oh? Melia said differently. Either way, it is impressive.” The smile lingered on the swordsman’s lips. 

Kallian nodded his appreciation. “That is good to hear. It was my intention to provide some distraction from our recent tragedy.”

“Melia seems to be getting through it alright. Are you?”

“Yes, thank you,” and then, running on autopilot from so many of the same conversations, “And you?”

For a moment, the same storm clouds as the night before passed across Dunban’s face. But then the easy smile returned. “I heard that dancing is on the schedule for the evening?”

Kallian wondered at the pause for a moment before answering. “You heard correctly. It is traditional for an ascension banquet for there to be a dance shared between the current and future rulers of the High Entia. Followed by those open to the public, of course.”

“Do you dance, dear prince?”

“Enough to say with certainty that you would find it highly disappointing to watch.”

“I am no expert on birds, but I do recall that many species perform their courtship through dance?”

“Actually, the High Entia are not so closely related to birds as to... Ah,” Kallian stared blankly for a moment at the ballroom floor, before looking at Dunban again. “Is that an... invitation?” 

Dunban laughed, putting a hand on Kallian’s shoulder. “Save me one, would you? A dance.” He sauntered off, dark hair waving behind him. 

Kallian stared after him, wondering for a moment if the conversation had been merely a result of sleep deprivation. 

***

 

Melia had officially made her appearance, dressed in her full royal ensemble including her mask. The room fell silent with reverence as she entered. Drinks were set down, food put to the side regardless of what portion had been eaten. She took to the podium with grace, her footsteps carrying the full weight of her title. It was deeply reassuring for Kallian, seeing how she held the focus of the room with so little effort. He had never doubted her, but couldn’t help the swell of pride in his chest. She was their hope, ever radiant. Melia stood at the podium with all the poise of an empress, something she could undoubtedly hold for the year before her actual coronation. 

“My people,” she began, her voice carrying none of the nervousness she expressed beforehand, “It is only recently that I had the privilege of seeing what lies beyond our beloved Alcamoth, and such a journey has bestowed upon me a great deal of perspective. This is a perspective that my father, the departed Sorean Antiqua, possessed a great deal of. If he did not his reputation would not have lasted, his wisdom not been so renowned. There are many years ahead before I can achieve the same degree of knowledge, although I have learned much already. For example, the value of unity, which we all must rely on in this time of hardship and transition. I implore you all to reach out to friends or to invest in making new ones. I am certain that you will find such connections as important as I have. And I am certain that my father, and all our ancestors, look upon us with great expectations, and with your support I have no doubt we shall not only meet such expectations, but exceed them.”

Thunderous, but nevertheless polite, applause. Melia gave a courteous bow and descended from the podium. The orchestra had stopped for the speech, and tensed, waiting for the dance. For all their talking about it this evening, Kallian and Melia had never actually figured out how to handle the most important part of the evening. 

A voice at Kallian’s shoulder. “What’s missing here?”

He startled at the voice, turning to find Dunban had reappeared. Kallian was in no way certain of how to articulate the totality of why this dance was so important. “An Emperor.” 

“You need someone to fill in, then? It can’t be the prince?” Murmurs were spreading as the swordsman spoke, and Dunban seemed to be slightly preoccupied watching the crowd.

“No, I... I had considered it.” This was true, but Kallian could not disconnect from the importance of the ceremony, could not usurp what was rightfully his father’s.

A nod from Dunban. “I see.” he started through the crowd toward Melia. He turned at Kallian’s half protest, raising a finger as if in reminder. Don’t tell me how important this is to your people. 

A gasp and then an immediate hush fell over those attending the banquet, and Kallian was startled out of his brief recollection. Dunban stood facing Melia, a hand extended in what was obviously an invitation. The orchestra, at first uncertain, struck up the notes of the song meant for the symbolic dance. And the two of them danced, a pattern unfamiliar to the High Entian audience and all the more captivating for its novelty. It could not have been rehearsed but seemed just as seamless as if it had been. The two spiraled about in the same manner as the music and finally slowed as the notes came to an equally circular close. 

Dunban bowed deeply to Melia before lifting a drink from the tray of a nearby server. “To your Empress, and to prosperity on all of Bionis!” 

The toast was more than well received, applause shaking the ballroom. Music resumed, the space reserved for public dances filling almost immediately with both couples and those eager to speak to Melia. Kallian, still a little dumbstruck, blankly looked over the wave of people. He was accruing more debts by the minute, he supposed. Finally Dunban reappeared among the heads and feathers, and Kallian attempted to push through the crowd to express his gratitude. But the hero of the Homs was surrounded already with praise for his dance and toast, so grabbing his attention seemed a nearly impossible task. Kallian hazarded a wave, and Dunban looked up at the motion, perhaps somewhat relieved by the chance to excuse himself. 

“I cannot begin to thank you,” Kallian began, instinctively clasping both of Dunban’s hands in his own. They were a soldier’s calloused hands, surprisingly warm, he noted. “However can I repay you for now three debts so deeply owed?”

The swordsman seemed equally surprised for a moment, staring at Kallian’s hands holding his. He looked up, making pointed eye contact. “Thank me later. You promised me that dance, remember? Call it a debt paid.”

Kallian nodded, prepared to argue that one dance could not be nearly enough to cover even half of what he owed, but Dunban was pulling him towards the dancefloor already. For a moment he was overwhelmed with the sensation of how deeply his mother would be upset with the spectacle, but the feeling faded with the realization that perhaps he did not need to care very much about what his mother thought. 

Warmth and laughter pressed the two of them together, and Kallian wondered if this was all Dunban’s influence, thinking of the warmth of his hands. Not an entirely logical notion, but he was reluctant to dismiss it. Like this, it was hard to imagine that there had ever been a storm over the castle, even more difficult to picture it had been only a day before.

Stars peeked over the spires of Alcamoth, bright against a cloudless sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok !!! this fic has been in my brain for about a month and a half and i am so excited to finally bring it into the spotlight. recommended listening is the cat returns soundtrack, especially "waltz katzen blut" during the third section.
> 
> kallian and dunban have a lot of unexplored chemistry, and i love writing them since i adore both characters so much.
> 
> thanks for reading! i'm planning on adding a second part, and maybe a little more. we'll see!


	2. a distraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delayed in their departure for Valak Mountain, Dunban receives a special invitation.

Dunban had never been one for parties, but he was starting to think that he’d need to make the rule more conditional. Like a footnote on a map, describing how the terrain would shift if it rained. But in this case the footnote would not describe rain so much as the fact that parties were significantly more bearable given that Kallian Antiqua was present, and he was less similar to rain than a sudden gust of wind on an unbearably hot day. The kind of breeze that brought a sudden coolness, the reminder of more pleasant weather on the way, the immediate relief from sweaty irritability. Dunban had been certain the palpable pretension of the party would eat him alive, but there was Kallian, somehow endearing in his contradiction of ancient knowledge and oblivious naivety. And there was, of course, the dancing.

Thinking about the night before felt like the least useful thing that he could be doing, at the moment. The party should have already been well on their way to Valak Mountain, but was left waiting on crucial supplies. They’d been reassured that what was needed would be delivered by the following morning, but even that felt too long. Fiora’s situation was the most urgent, and then there was the matter of a different unsettling suspicion... Dunban was fighting a battle of worry on two fronts, and missing too much information to hope for victory on either. Given the unfamiliar environment they’d be heading into, he couldn’t afford to be so preoccupied. Maybe that was the reason he kept thinking about the banquet, because Kallian’s hands on his, a little cold and unworn by combat, were so much easier to consider and quantify than everything else.

After what provisioning they could do was done, Melia had offered the group an unofficial guided tour of Alcamoth. There had been no objections, given there was little else to do to fill the time. And it was a lovely city, serene in its distance from conflict, the sound of fountains and the occasional distant polite laughter filling the space. The banquet seemed to have done well in recovering some sense of normalcy, though with the laughter were unavoidable whispers of grief, murmurs of tragedy below the sparkling surface. Dunban supposed that even though the High Entia had lived as a fairy tale for so long they weren’t exempt from troubles that couldn’t fit in the pages of a storybook. He only half listened to Melia’s descriptions of statues and architecture, punctuated by a question from Shulk or a shout from Reyn as Sharla scolded him for some reason or another. Certainly, he was interested, and had every intention of tuning in once he’d finished reasoning out what was to come. It was a benefit of military training, assessing a large situation down to the component parts. But there was too much missing to break it down all the way. 

A masked imperial guard approached Melia, at the head of the party. Instantly her demeanor shifted, all royal business. Dunban snapped to attention, aware the situation might require his full engagement. 

“State your business.” She spoke with royal authority, too.

“My apologies for the interruption,” The guard gave a half bow, “His Highness Kallian has issued a summons for the one called Dunban, who is among your number?”

“Oh?” Melia made a face that was not quite confusion or disapproval, then turned to Dunban, sizing him up in some different context. “I see.” 

The guard gave another half-bow, then beckoned at the swordsman. “This way, then. If you would.”

Dunban was still working towards an understanding of High Entia customs and culture, but he knew enough to understand how impolite it would have been to refuse a summons from the prince. Likely whatever it was would prove to be a better use of his time than wandering in mental circles. He gave an affirming nod to the guard, then addressed the rest of the group.

“Try not to get into any trouble while I’m gone, alright?” He smiled, at least relatively sure that he didn’t need to ask.

“You as well,” Melia said, still with the bemused expression from before on her face. 

The imperial guardsman led Dunban toward one of the transporters that were spread about the city but had been, as far as he could tell, inaccessible to outsiders. The guard fiddled briefly with a screen, then motioned to stand in the miniature cascade of light. He still wasn’t quite used to all the transporters, as they seemed excessive for what was not even a particularly large city. Someone in the design process had underestimated the value of a good walk. Still, he stood on the center of the transporter plate and waited. 

Kallian was already there when Dunban stepped off the transporter again. The prince had his hands clasped expectantly, and he seemed a bit more put together than the evening before. Dunban was no expert in the exact stresses of imperial status, but he knew sleep deprivation when he saw it. It was good that Kallian had fully recovered, then. He took a second to examine his arrival point, noting that it looked to be part of the Whitewing Palace, but otherwise totally unfamiliar. His boots made a satisfying sound against the floors as he scanned the high ceilings, closing the distance between him and the prince.

“You have my gratitude for accepting my summons at such short notice,” Kallian said, and for a moment Dunban wondered if the prince would grab his hands again, “And my deepest apologies for the supply delay. However, I am somewhat grateful for the extra time, as there is a matter of which I wished to speak with you about.”

“What matter would that be?” Most likely something about the banquet, but Melia had implied some other intention behind the invitation with her earlier look. Not that Kallian seemed the type to be so overt with any kind of advances, though. 

“Easier to show you than to attempt an accurate description,” Kallian unclasped his hands, gesturing down the hall, “This way, if you please.”

Now it was two pairs of boots, each distinct, tapping a rhythm down the long hallway together. Kallian seemed preoccupied as they walked, fidgeting with his rings. Finally, the two stopped in front of a large set of double doors that were engraved with stylized feathers, wings swooping upwards. 

Kallian paused in front of a panel near one of the doors, presumably the locking mechanism. “I should explain. Last night, I happened upon the memory of a conversation with one of the venerable citizens of Alcamoth, a former imperial guard by the name of Caul. He had remarked that not everyone considers the formality of a banquet the right setting in which to clear their head of distress, that some prefer a physical rather than a mental distraction,” Kallian pressed a hand to the panel, and the doors slid open, “Forgive my presumptuousness, but as you are a man of the sword, I thought perhaps you would be interested in what my people have to offer in terms of... Such a distraction.”

There was plenty to address in that statement, but Dunban was admittedly far more curious about the inside of the room than formulating a reply. He took measured steps toward the open doors, peering inside. It was unmistakably a training hall, mirrored on one wall with a set of high windows on the opposite side. The floors were evenly proportioned with springy-looking mats for sparring, and there even seemed to be a few of the Andos units that had been present in the Eryth Sea and the High Entia Tombs hovering in alcoves. It was nicer than any of the colony facilities, but the sense of sweatiness seemed to be universal. The sword racks held many of the rapiers that Dunban had noted the Imperial Guard carried, down to the textures on the hilts. The light from the large windows cast stripes across a place where those not sparring would have an excellent view, and the gold accents on the walls left the rest of the room looking pretty bright, too. 

Dunban made for the rack of swords almost instinctively, knowing he’d think better with a blade in his hand. The rapier was beautifully weighted and much lighter than expected. He took a swing with it, but found the motion lacking, somehow.

Kallian had observed the swordsman’s consternation from the doorway. “They’re built for ether conduction,” he chimed in, “Not quite as useful in plain combat, I would assume.”

Dunban leaned the rapier back against the rack. “Would you care to give a demonstration?”

Kallian looked around, as though he was unsure of who was being addressed despite being the only other person present. He made his way over hesitantly. “I am not certain of how useful you would find such a demonstration.”

“Why’s that?” Melia was a veritable wizard with her ether control, Dunban thought it likely there was some genetic similarity. “If you’re underestimating your swordsmanship the same way you did your dancing, dear prince, you’ve nothing to worry about.”

Kallian stiffened despite the compliment. “I thought that was a miserable spectacle comprised entirely of me stepping on your feet,” he took a breath, “But it is not as though I am unable to comply with your request, despite its intimidating nature.” 

Kallian pulled a different rapier from the rack, turning it in his hands. He clicked his tongue at some imperfection that Dunban couldn’t identify, then assumed the posture of a fencer with one ringed hand behind his back. Something sparkled across the sword as Kallian made an elegant lunge. It wasn’t a dramatic elemental explosion, but Dunban could see there had been more solidity in the motion and impact of the blade, even if only through the air. 

The prince exhaled deeply. “Sufficient?”

Far from it. “Is it too much to ask that you would join me for a few rounds?” 

Kallian was still worrying at the condition of the sword he held, not entirely tuned in to the proposition. “Sparring? I can engage one of the practice units, if you would like,” He sighed, “I had dismissed the claims that the Imperial Guard were not working to their full potential, but perhaps that was a mistake...” 

Dunban wasn’t all that fond of the Andos units, thought them too reminiscent of Mechon and another instance of the High Entia going overboard with their tech. “Call it old fashioned, but I’d rather have a sparring partner who isn’t made of metal,” He took a couple steps closer to Kallian, trying to discern what the issue with the rapier was. “What’s the problem here?”

The prince gestured to a thin line of rust where the blade of the sword met the hilt. “Improperly oiled. It is of vital importance to maintain the integrity of such delicate blades.”

“You seem particularly well informed on sword maintenance for a non-combatant.”

Kallian smiled wryly. “One would hope so, after so many hours spent at it.”

Dunban laughed. Oiling swords were such a menial task, left only to Defense Force cadets and for the occasional punishment task. The thought of someone as prim and proper as Kallian cross-legged on the floor of this training hall, hunched over a blade and sighing at how many remained on the rack... It was at once absurd and completely endearing. “Really? The High Entia had their own prince polishing swords?” 

Kallian blushed. “It was entirely my fault, you understand. I had avoided a few too many fencing lessons and was therefore relegated to more menial tasks.”

“Fair enough. I suppose combat training wouldn’t have seemed so useful at the time.”

“Yes, it becomes all the more frustrating in hindsight,” Kallian shook his head, feathers rustling as he did. “There is much I cannot help but wonder about, had I been more devoted to training.”

The implication was obvious, the same lasting guilt expressed by so many other Alcamoth citizens. But it was undoubtedly more personal for the prince. “Never too late to start, you know. I’d be willing to show you a thing or two,” and then, before Kallian could object, “On the condition you’d be my sparring partner afterward.”

“An exceptionally generous offer. How could I refuse?” Kallian smiled, but some sadness lingered there, too.

Dunban lifted the rapier he’d left leaning on the rack, giving it another twirl. “Any chance you have one that’s heavier? I don’t believe I’m suited to something so delicate.”

Kallian nodded, finding a different panel on the wall. A few taps and another rack of rapiers slid out from a panel that had previously been flush with the wall. He passed one to Dunban. “Made of a different material. Significantly less ether conductive, as well.”

It was a heavier blade, but no less elegant. “It’ll do,” Dunban slid his capelet off his shoulders, then maneuvered his vest off as well. Any sort of swordplay meant a lighter wardrobe. “Won’t you be a little warm in all that?” The question was directed at Kallian, who had spent the past few moments blankly staring. 

“Yes. Yes, you’re right. My apologies.” Kallian shook his head as if to clear it, and then began what Dunban assumed would be a meticulous process of removing armor. He was surprised to find it expedited by a great number of magnets, and it only took a few moments for Kallian to take off the plates of metal on his shoulders and hips. Then it was the wide-sleeved blue shirt, a symphony of buttons detaching all at once. Finally, he was wearing nothing but the high-collared white shirt and tight pants tucked into his boots. The lack of adornment diminished the royal silhouette somewhat, but also revealed that the prince was surprisingly muscular, despite his talk of skipping practice.

“You’re trained more classically, yes?” Dunban had learned a few fencing forms and footwork but found them restrictive. It was just as easy for an enemy to lock onto your perfect patterns as it was with their own. 

Kallian nodded. “As are the Imperial Guard.”

“Alright,” a moment of consideration, “Show me a set?”

Kallian lifted a rapier from the lighter set and found his way to a circle on the training hall floor with a smaller circle in the center, lines radiating out. Kallian started with one foot on the center and the other farther back on a line, then after performing a set of motions moved on to a different set from another location the circle. Watching the prince completely discredited his statement about a poor performance the night before. This was a dance, too, and he was executing it with exceptional grace, one hand on his hip, the other deftly twirling a rapier. It was captivating. Dunban had intended to interrupt and provide commentary, but couldn’t manage a word.   
Finally, Kallian stopped, looking over. “I apologize for such a sloppy display. Clearly, I am quite out of practice.”

“But you’ve not lost your touch for self-depreciation, I see,” and then, before any objections could be made, “I can’t claim a trained eye for this sort of thing, but I would know sloppy if I had actually seen it.”

“In that case, I will take your word for it,” Kallian’s gaze had drifted to his boots, but he quickly remedied this. “Sparring, then?”

Dunban nodded, gesturing with his sword to one of the rectangular mats on the floor. “Yes. Easiest to teach you this way, too.”

“I believe I may have some inclination of what you will say.”

“Is that so?”

“That I should endeavor to be more flexible.”

Dunban smiled. An astute observation. “Maybe so.”

The two danced in a manner similar to the night before, this time with the addition of sparkling steel. For the most part Kallian could keep up with Dunban’s more unpredictable motions, but they would pause for stance corrections and commentary when necessary. It required enough focus that Dunban couldn’t slip back into dissecting what had weighed on him so heavily early in the day, a fact that he understood and appreciated. Kallian, for his part, was a quick learner, and his experience in fencing made most of Dunban’s suggestions intuitive changes. Still, it was hard to break the prince of the fixed patterns he was so used to, and he would likely end up unfortunately sore for whatever meetings he attended the following day. Eventually both were soaked with sweat and out of breath, so they took a quick respite on one of the raised blocks by the windows. Kallian procured cold water after navigating the control panels again, and the two rested in warmly companionable silence.

“To think,” Kallian said, speaking up at last, “That I would have the privilege and pleasure of sparring with you. Had I been informed of it a year ago, even by our seer, I would not have believed it.”

“I will admit that I was surprised to receive celebrity treatment so far from the colonies,” Dunban said, spinning the last splash of water around in the cup he held. 

“When we first heard the news of the battle at Sword Valley, the reaction from the High Entia populace was astounding! Generally, there is little interest in external affairs, but your tale was quite the exception. I thought how miraculous it was to be alive during such a profound moment in history. Clearly our reports were lacking, however. I shall have to order them corrected.”

“Oh? In what way?”

“Never once is your appearance mentioned! All things considered, I should have liked to have known you by more than name alone.”  
Dunban gave a half-smile. “And what would you have the records say on that matter?”

“Ah,” Kallian faltered for a moment, but pressed bravely onward, “I do believe it would be rather remiss not to mention that you are exceptionally handsome.”


	3. a parting gift

The sun had set on Alcamoth. Kallian looked over the city from the window of his personal quarters, on a high enough level of the Whitewing palace that he was afforded a pleasant panoramic of the fountains and trees. The end of the day had come at once too quickly and too slowly. Kallian was exhausted, in more ways than one, but knew he would be unable to sleep. His room, frustratingly enough, reflected such mental disarray. The bed was of royal proportions, naturally, but was so covered in treatises and texts, as well as many a loose document that little of it was usable. Briefly it had been a joke between some members of the staff, this tendency to hoard, given Kallian’s perceived predisposition for neatness. However, no matter how many times the books were shuffled off the sheets and meticulously stacked, they somehow returned, their imprints on the covers mirroring the solitary dent from the occasions Kallian actually joined them. 

There was no respite from the disorder in the adjacent study, either, and this was where Kallian more often slept. Here at least the books were on shelves, or the majority were. The rest were strewn about a large wooden desk, along with parchment scrolls and loose sheets of paper, so haphazardly that they could have been thrown there by a storm on the Eryth Sea. Only adding to the chaos were a flock of the floating screens that were so common in Alcamoth, official messages and reminders all alike in their blue glow. Kallian tapped the light hovering above the piles of paper, a miniature of the chandeliers in the ballroom, and settled into the worn chair in front of the desk. Wood as well, the two pieces of furniture completely out of place in the pristine white paneling, the metallic sheen of Alcamoth. But the prince was a bit nostalgic, he supposed. As much as he could be for someone not even two centuries old. The wood was from Makna, and he wondered at its age as well, tracing the grain. Older than he, in all likelihood. 

He hadn’t told Dunban about the desk, which in hindsight seemed like something he would have brought up in the hours they’d been together earlier in the day. The nostalgia, though, he had mentioned. The swordsman had laughed, a familiar sound by then, and very welcome. Dunban remarked that Kallian’s interest in history was something he’d noted already, asked if it had always been a favorite subject. It was a precise and accurate observation, a bit of a surprise. Kallian had said as much and asked what Dunban’s favorite area of academia was. The swordsman had demurred, made an offhand comment about how he’d really only managed to learn what pertained to the military and practical combat. Somehow, this did not seem the entire truth. 

The two had talked between rounds of sparring, the breaks becoming lengthier as the day wore on and they wore out. It was hard to keep conversation when the swords between them demanded to be heard, even more difficult when Dunban was coaching, setting down his own blade to adjust Kallian’s posture. The tweaks were minimal shifts to the shoulders or the hips, demonstrations on how to create more fluidity in every motion. All this required physical contact, however, which Kallian was wildly and embarrassingly unfamiliar with. It was different from dancing, with the layers that the prince usually wore discarded and lacking the distraction of company. It was impossible to be eloquent with Dunban’s hands on his hips, putting aside how difficult it was to speak when Kallian’s whole brain seemed to have been overridden with the warmth of such propinquity. Dunban smelled of the ocean, rain-soaked wood, and some unidentifiable spice. 

Kallian’s original plan for the day had not involved all the talk and sparring, but he was glad to have made himself unavailable for meetings well in advance. His intention was to show Dunban the training hall, maybe engage one of the practice units, then give a formal statement on the idea he’d been so tediously formulating in the days prior. But he couldn’t be ungrateful for the shift in the schedule and gave the speech he’d been preparing just before sunset. Really, the hours spent with Dunban had only solidified the concept. An Allied Force. It was an idea half inspired by Melia’s speech on unity and otherwise derived from his own feelings of urgency and necessity, embarrassment it had taken this long. He’d been putting it together slowly, impressed by even the imaginary scope. So the fact that Shulk needed extra time for consideration wasn’t surprising or any sort of inconvenience. As much as Kallian would have liked an immediate answer because a postponed answer seemed much more regularly to become a negative one.

And Melia, too, was a puzzle. Certainly, she was under a great deal of pressure, and grief was fresh for both of them. This was some other splinter in her composure, the way she had spoken when she privately volunteered to take the position and remain in Alcamoth. Kallian had accepted her offer, but decided that would have to be temporary. Melia had a year before her duties were truly binding, she should make use of her relative freedom. The spark of satisfaction she’d carried upon returning from her latest and farthest excursion, and even farther back than that, the first time she’d ventured beyond the city ... No, he would not be the one to keep her here, tied down with enormous responsibility. Kallian shelved the thought, with the impression that his mental desk was becoming just as cluttered as the physical counterpart. The subject of Melia had brought up another item to be cataloged, the comment she had made on her way out of the Audience Chamber.

“Ah,” She had turned, already halfway out by then, “How was your private engagement?”

Kallian had frowned. “To what are you referring?”

“Earlier. With Dunban, who seemed in particularly high spirits afterward.”

“I am glad to hear it,” He’d said, repressing the need to express how glad he truly was, “Given the engagement was little more than an introduction to the training hall used by the Imperial Guard and few rounds of sparring.” 

Melia had smiled an unknowable smile that made Kallian feel as though she was privy to some vital information and taking great pleasure in not sharing it. “Swordplay. I see.”

Unsure how to respond to this, still feeling very much like he was missing something. “Yes, swordplay,” and then perhaps too eagerly, “How exactly did you come to the impression of Dunban’s good mood?”

Melia’s enigmatic smile had only intensified, clearly noting this eagerness. “He gave much praise to the quality of the training hall, of course,” she paused, “and expressed to me more privately that he likes you more for each minute spent in your company. Or some similar sentiment to that.”

“Is that so?” In the moment, Kallian had hoped his voice would not betray the fluttering in his chest, “If you would inform him that such a feeling is mutual, I would be quite grateful.”

Melia nodded. “Do not worry, I have already said as much.” 

And with that she had left, giving Kallian no time to object to her decision, not that he would have. 

Back in the moment and restless in his chambers, knowing that sleeping now would be an impossibility, Kallian decided to take a walk. This was a frequent enough activity for the prince that the Imperial Guard no longer questioned the hours he kept as they exchanged greetings. Alcamoth was quiet, though much of the populace was partial to stargazing. Kallian made his way through the halls of the Whitewing Palace and out onto Melfica road, realizing to his own chagrin the difference in air quality from the stuffy dustiness of his study to the pristine spaciousness of the city. He could hear fountains and the rustle of trees, stifled exclamations on the beauty of the evening. Kallian was filled with an immense sense of relief at the peace that infused the moment, a tangible calm after the storm. He knew it would be premature to assume all was completely well, but the normalcy was welcome, and he hoped his efforts had some part to play. 

A moment to breathe, looking from the upper level of Alcamoth down below, up at the star-filled sky. And then Kallian sensed a presence had manifested by his side, familiar enough by now that he hardly needed to look over and see who it was. Though he did, nonetheless. Dunban at his left, silent, looking at the same stars. A passing thought occurred to Kallian, that if he’d been eating something this time around he may not have choked on it. The time that had passed since then seemed much longer than two days. 

An unexpectedly soft gasp from the swordsman, still looking at the sky. Kallian looked for the cause, saw the shining ribbons of a star shower that he hadn’t noticed on his first observation. As far as he knew, Alcamoth and the Eryth Sea where the only places on Bionis that one could observe such a phenomenon, likely due to their proximity to the sky. He said as much, realizing too late it may have been an insensitive interruption. 

“This city of yours really could be something out of a children’s tale,” Dunban didn’t look away from the sky, one hand on his hip and the other hanging loosely. Relaxed enough, but ready for any occasion.

“I suppose so,” Kallian nodded distantly, trying to recall any stories from when he was young. An unsuccessful effort. Yumea and Sorean had no particular interest in fiction, save for that of familial unity. But that was too dark of a thought for so beautiful a night. “All your preparations are going well?” he asked, hoping selfishly for a distracting shift in the conversation.

“Finished, actually,” there was an undertone of relief in Dunban’s voice. The supply convoy they’d been waiting on had been expected to arrive the following morning but made a great effort to arrive early. If the swordsman had asked, Kallian would neither confirm nor deny any involvement. He had already ordered the preparation of a transport pod, would admit to that. 

“That is excellent news,” Kallian said, “However, my proposition stands should you wish to stay.” Spoken as if he had not already fully accepted its rejection and put plans aside for the possibility. 

Dunban sighed, looking away from the sky and at the prince. “I suppose I owe you an explanation for why that won’t be possible, then.”

“I promise, there is nothing you could possibly owe me,” Kallian spoke more to himself than his company. 

“No,” Dunban said, and he put a hand on Kallian’s shoulder, making eye contact as he did, “I want you to know.”

There was a sincerity there that was impossible to deny. Kallian returned the contact so that his hand lay on top of Dunban’s. He met the swordsman’s eyes, seeing the falling stars reflected there. A doubly lovely view. “In that case,” he said, “I should like to hear it.” 

***

There had been a time some number of years ago, after a series of sleepless nights, that Dunban had decided never again to be bothered by a sunrise. The logic had been a simple gratitude for being alive to see the morning, and the realization that blaming the sun for any lack of sleep was largely unproductive. He’d made camp in rough places, yes, woken sore and stuck with brambles. That wasn’t due to the machinations of some heavenly entity, and it was a waste of energy to dwell on it. His sleeping arrangements in Alcamoth were nothing so dismal as what had facilitated the creation of that rule, but he was reminded of it as the group readied to leave the city. Everything had been checked and double checked, even while the delay pressed new urgency into the most menial of tasks. 

Dunban hadn’t slept much, hadn’t been sleeping much since their return from Prison Island. He was rested enough to remain uncompromised as a leader, but perhaps not at his best, which was troubling. Not that he would have allowed himself any extra rest in these circumstances, and he wasn’t altogether ungrateful for what staying up so late the night before had provided. The shooting stars and Kallian, listening so earnestly to every word he spoke. The High Entia prince seemed accustomed to the late hours, and Dunban had almost laughed at that. A night owl, despite no ancestral connection to birds. 

He’d really only intended to address the crucial details regarding Fiora but found much more spilling out, stories so long unspoken that once he’d started it was difficult to stop, a well left long unpumped. He rambled about Colony 9, told his favorite memories from the defense force, even included some that weren’t as pleasant but maybe more entertaining because of that. Kallian, for his part, nodded along, made the occasional polite but inquisitive comment. It was a sort of balance for how much Kallian had talked earlier, or something like that. Eventually, they were both silent, Dunban leaning backward with both elbows against the railing on the edge of where the upper level of the city overlooked the lower, and Kallian standing beside him, arms crossed at the wrist behind his back. 

“I am grateful to understand your situation,” Kallian had said, “And were our positions reversed I would act in entirely the same way, and yet--”

“You can’t help but be disappointed?” And Dunban couldn’t resist interrupting.

“No,” Kallian shook his head, “No. Anxious, perhaps. Envious?” The last part a half-whispered question. 

“What for?” A genuine question, though he suspected a particular answer.

“That I cannot accompany you. I know it to be as much of an impossibility as asking you to stay.”

Not the answer Dunban had anticipated, it had put him off balance and he lacked the words to provide a proper parry, leaving him silent instead. 

“Please forgive such selfishness,” Kallian was worrying at the ring on his right pointer finger, looking nowhere in particular as he did, “And you have my apologies for keeping you at such a late hour.” As if Dunban had not been the one to interrupt his solitude. A half bow and the prince was gone, save for the sound of his boots against the tile.

Dunban wondered at the exchange as the central gate of Alcamoth became ever closer, but dwelling on it seemed to fall under the same protocol as sunrises: simply a waste of energy. Melia had already said that Kallian was likely too busy to see them off, so he couldn’t have asked about it anyway. If it weren’t for that he reasoned it would be worth further consideration. And still, a thought lingered of some alternate ending to the evening, and perhaps even led to a not so solitary morning. Though that would not be entirely in keeping with Kallian’s style, he supposed. If the circumstances had not been what they were he could almost picture staying and letting the thing that existed between the two of them in the training hall and the ballroom grow beyond camaraderie. This at least was a fairy tale he could take with him, colored in Kallian’s compliments. 

Dunban had put the thoughts aside as the party made their last farewells to the city and to Melia, who seemed all the more forlorn than the night before. That observation would have to wait, as his full attention was required for planning what lay ahead. Sword Valley he knew already, at least, though it was a separate issue to gauge his own emotional state. Tangled so deeply in considering everything at once, it took him an extra moment to notice that everyone else had halted their exit, and even longer to realize the reason behind the delay. Slowly the sound of a familiar pair of boots pulled him out of it, and an equally familiar voice. 

“Just on your way out, I see,” Kallian, his tone almost wry. 

Dunban was silent for the following exchange, Shulk’s apology for a refusal that the prince had been informed of, the addition of the seer to their number, and the revelation that Melia would not be staying behind after all. The exchange between the siblings he had watched with particular interest, the warmth that was apparent in their formality. All seemed happily settled, but Dunban remembered the night before, Kallian’s confession made beneath the shooting stars. Nonetheless, there was some security in having someone so dedicated and trustworthy to stay behind and pursue the goal of unity, though Dunban could admit to some bias on that front. He had made his peace with leaving, bringing up the rear of the party, when a final objection demanded his attention. 

“Ah, Dunban. May I ask for one moment more of your time?” The earlier veneer of calm eloquence less present than it had been in Kallian’s face and voice.

“How do you define a moment?” Dunban replied, though he really had no intention of refusing.

“I--” It took the prince a moment to appreciate the rhetorical nature of the question, “Are you of the opinion that the allied force will need a larger facility in which to train, or will the hall I showed to you be sufficient?”

“Do you have a rifle range as well?”

A pause. “The equivalent, yes.”

“Then you’ll be alright, provided everyone brings their own weapons. I have a feeling your swords might be a little dainty for some,” Dunban winked at the prince, a confidential acknowledgment of the day before. 

Kallian nodded slowly. “You have my thanks once again. I shall not keep you any longer.”

Dunban didn’t take his cue to leave. “I realize that I never thanked you for yesterday. You were right about the distraction, you know.”

“While I am glad to hear it, you owe me no thanks,” Kallian said, though a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. 

An impulse took Dunban then, reminiscent of a recklessness he had not felt in a long time. He closed the distance between himself and Kallian, and in one swift motion cupped the prince’s cheek in his hand and kissed him. It was over far too quickly, repercussions of such an action encroaching on the moment. Dunban pulled back, ready for whatever consequences manifested, scanning Kallian’s wide-eyed expression. He was terrified for a second that this was one trespass too many on tradition, that he’d accidentally condemned himself to a cell. He’d started to step back when white feathers exploded around him. Dunban was pulled back into the kiss, deeper this time, Kallian’s hands in his hair. 

When the prince pulled back, the physical contact remained. “My apologies,” Kallian spoke in what was nearly a whisper, “Go, and my heart goes with you. I would not ask you to stay.” 

“I know,” Dunban said, “I know.” All that needed be said, honest expression here between the prince’s headwings. They each had their priorities, but not the luxury of this being one of them. 

Just before he stepped on the transporter that would take him to the Eryth Sea, Dunban hazarded one last look over his shoulder. Kallian was still there farther up, wearing a decidedly warm expression. He wondered then, taking the last few steps into the light of the transport pad, if the prince had lied to him at the banquet about High Entia romance being unrelated to the courtship of birds.

Either way, he’d have to ask for another dance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we are, a bittersweet ending for this story and for me writing it! 
> 
> i really enjoyed writing all this, and i hope those of you who read it felt the same way! if you enjoy my high entia fics, little stardrop will be getting its second part very soon.
> 
> thanks again!


End file.
